And All That Was : September 11th, 2001
by Andrew NDB
Summary: September 11th, 2001. A tragedy struck a nation... and the TMNT were there to help.
1. Prelude 8:07 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

"_We're not the guardians of society, Raphael... we never were."  
_- _**TMNT**_** Vol. 1, #19**

**YEARS EARLIER. . .**

_A twelve year-old Chang Lao knelt before Donatello, weeping openly. Only moments ago he'd leapt into action, violating his father's edict about violence in protecting Donatello._

_"I can never face my father -- he'll know I've disgraced him... I must run away!"_

_Donatello would hear none of it. "No, Chang Lao," he said, "You've done no wrong. You acted to save my life -- how could that be dishonorable? You are right to respect your father's teachings -- he is a good and wise man! In a perfect world, his ways would be the best... but as long as you well know, this world -- especially New York -- is far from perfect... and there are times when one must choose the lesser of two evils! The Shaolin Monks of our native China had a saying: 'avoid rather than check, check rather than hurt, hurt rather than maim, maim rather than kill.' You chose to hurt that creep rather than have him kill me... and by my philosophy, that was the right choice."_

_The young boy gave a sigh. "Y-yes... I think I see... perhaps my father does not have all the right answers!"_

_Donatello stood, then beckoned for Lao to do the same. Together, with Donatello's arm over Lao's back, they walked away. "Come on, Lao," the teenaged Turtle spoke, "let's get you home! Il'l come to see you again and we'll talk more. You'll make it... trust me."_

**SEPTEMBER 11th, 2001  
8:07 AM EST**

It was a cool Tuesday morning in the Big Apple, the sky clearer than it had been, the air... well, most New Yorkers would tell a person that you either get used to the air or you don't.

Chang Lao stood absentmindedly on the freshly-painted basketball court just down the block from the New York flat he was presently calling his home, aiming for a three-pointer with his basketball in hand. Aside from the fact that the shoelace on one of his wingtips was untied, his stance was perfect; he obviously knew what he was doing. Lao shot the ball and _swish _— ball went through net and bounced back towards him.

"Nice shot, brutha!" a passer-by behind the fencing in a matching Adidas outfit shouted.

"Thanks!" Lao called back, grinning. Coming to this court every once in a while never did fail to relieve a bit of his daily stress.

Even when he was a child, not more than seven years of age, Lao had liked to play basketball when he got the chance. He didn't find it hard to learn or get good at and he had made the team the first day of tryouts in Junior High and later in High School. Ever since beginning his career after college Lao's reign over the courts was a forgotten thing, forgotten right beside the days when the city bullies reigned over him.

"Ah, those were the days..." After a long, wistful sigh of thoughtful reflection, Lao shot the ball again. Another swoosh.

He shot the ball yet again, expecting to hear the familiar clink of the ball against the chain net but instead, this time he heard the noise of another basketball knocking into his, sending his own ball flying away. "Hey, what the hell's your pr..." Lao started as he went to retrieve the ball before seeing just who was standing there.

"Problem?" His good friend Donatello, in the flesh, was standing a few feet away from him. As he tossed off his baseball cap he noticed he had his red bandana tied not over his eyes but around his forehead as a skullcap and was clad head to toe in sweat attire. Lao glanced up at his face and the two made eye contact. "Chang Lao, good to see you!"

"Hey, hey." Lao cracked a grin, beginning to dribble his basketball in front of him. "Here for another friendly game, Don?"

Donatello returned the grin. He still couldn't believe the same young kid he'd taught to defend himself against common hoodlums those many years ago had become the spry adult that was offering him such good competition in their frequent basketball bouts. "Hey, why not? Just stepped out for a moment from the lair... family problems, y'know, that sort of thing."

"All right, cool," Lao said with a smile. "You know I'm always down for a challenge. Gotta make it quick, though... you wouldn't _believe_ the workload I've got ahead of me this week, the pressure's killing me. It's insane." He nodded emphatically to the briefcase he'd set on the park bench, right beside his sports jacket and tie. "In fact, if I don't get in to work in about one hour for my department's presentation — which you better believe I stayed up all night working on — you better also believe I'm as good as gone."

"Oh that's right... you're a career man now." Donatello chuckled. "Listen to you."

"Yeah, nine to five, Christmas bonuses, 401k, the whole shebang."

"Good for you, Lao." Don reached out and gave Lao a hearty one-armed brotherly hug. "I always knew you'd make it, kid. Proud of you."

Lao nodded. "That I even survived my childhood in this city I owe to you so much... what you taught me. If I can make the most of my life every day since... that, I feel, is the best way to honor your gift."

"Aw, now you're talking like a _whiner_ now!"

Lao winced. "Whu-what?"

"Hah!" With that, Don flung the ball at Lao. His hope to catch Lao off-guard didn't work, and Lao instinctively caught it and ran in for a layup. Donatello blocked and knocked the ball from his grasp. Lao swore and tried to grab the ball, but missed and his hand brushed against Donatello's shell. Lao's face flushed as Donatello's head whipped around mock-angrily. He shoved Lao in the stomach and ran towards his hoop, stopping at the three point line. Lao got up and went after him, getting in his face.

At one point Donatello was lining up for a three-pointer when Lao jumped in front of him. Don took a step back, not letting go of the ball. "Travel!" Lao declared. Donatello narrowed his eyes and shoved the ball at Lao, who responded by taking another step forward.

For some time they continued, neither one gaining a significant advantage until the agile Lao shoved his way through Don to get a decisive slam dunk.

Taking off his perspiration-soaked bandana, Donatello wiped the remaining sweat from his brow. "Whoo... good game. Must be getting old, you handing my shell to me like this."

Lao shook his head. "You went easy on me, my friend. But that's all right."

The two exchanged a bow of mutual respect as they usually did whenever they parted ways, then Lao began gathering his things off the park bench. "Wish we could continue, Donatello, but I have to head to work now. Thank you for the workout."

"Anytime, anywhere, kid — and _you _better believe there's going to be a rematch. Take care of yourself... and hold onto your lunch money!" Don gave a laugh.

"Oh yes, I will. You, too."

As he heard Chang Lao starting up his car nearby and heading out, Donatello picked up his basketball began taking some practice shots himself. He practiced for nearly half an hour before deciding to take a quick breather.

Resting on the bench a moment, removing the water bottle from his belt, his foot accidentally kicked something under the bench.

Chang Lao's briefcase! In his haste to get to work he must have completely forgotten about it.

"Man... I don't know if Chang Lao's new bosses are going to like him showing up for work without his presentation stuff... hmmm..." Donatello paused for a moment. "No biggie, no biggie... I'll just call him on his cell phone and let him know before it's too late..." Rifling through the deep pockets of his sweat pants he retrieved his own cell phone — or more accurately Casey's (who had taken the liberty of setting all the Turtles up with a family plan in his good name the previous Christmas). Clumsily pecking through the menu on his phone with great difficulty with his three oversized fingers, he eventually navigated his way to Chang Lao's name on his call list. "Damn cell phones getting smaller all the time..." Don muttered, pressing the "Call" button over Chang Lao's name.

A moment passed, then suddenly a loud, rhythmic noise nearby startled Don.

"Aw, shit..." The noise was coming from Lao's briefcase... the kid had left his cell phone inside it. Obviously on vibrate.

Donatello took a deep breath, ended his call, and picked up the briefcase. Storing his basketball under the bench for the time being he headed toward the street as he began pecking on his cell phone to dial a taxi cab.

"Chang Lao," Don said to himself with a shake of his head, "you're going to owe me one, kid..."


	2. 8:11 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**8:11 AM**

Raphael kicked open the door of the "Torchy's" pub and angrily stormed back out onto the street. A couple of burly, thoroughly-tattooed men poked their heads out of the door and then went back inside, satisfied, as if checking to see if Raphael had truly left.

"I've been coming to this same frigging place with Casey for something like the past five years... and today is the day they finally decide to card me!" he shouted. "Damn!"

_What's a Turtle got to do to get a freakin' early mornin' brewsky? Christ... ain't this a bitch..._

As he contemplated the embarrassing thought of possibly having April or Casey go out to buy him some beer, Raphael nearly tripped over an older, bearded man sitting on the sidewalk as he rounded the street corner.

Raphael was startled. The man's wrinkled, soiled face contorted into something resembling a smile, though he had noticeably had no teeth. He seemed disheveled, almost certainly homeless, he had long greasy white hair and wore tattered jeans as well as a black "I Love N.Y." T-shirt. "Could be a lot worse, partner!" the man quipped, then laughed drunkenly.

Raph scoffed at the man. "Yeah, up yours, too, buddy."

"Have it your way, greenie! I wush going to share my special brew with you, help-a-brother-in-need kinda thing, but now... pshaw..."

Raph harrumphed. "All right, all right. What you got there, old timer?"

"Well, letshee here..." The disheveled man produced a mostly-full 24 oz. bottle with no label, with yellow-orange contents not too unlike urine at a first glance. "It's not Crystile, it sure ain't no vintage... but I'll tell you what, greenie, it sure will keep you warm at night!" He began his hoarse, rather obnoxious laughter again.

_Well, if it's between this or bugging April or Casey... er, okay, it's a close one._ "If it was any other day but this..." Raphael made a face, snatched the bottle from the man, and took enough swigs to leave it at only a quarter of its original contents before returning it. He gave a burp, shook his head violently, then clapped the man on the back. If he had to guess, he would suspect the liquid in the bottle was something of a "grog," a mix of various liquors and beers put into a melting pot to make something else entirely, rarely something desirable. "Hot damn, mister... definitely _not_ a vintage."

"Heheh, 'at's the spirit, greenie! You're all right in my book!"

Raph wiped at his mouth. "Heh, yeah, all right... be seeing you." Tossing a crumpled up twenty bill on the old-timer's lap, he continued on his way.

_Ah, New York, Neeew York..._

There was always something to be said about the tranquility of Northampton, but there was never truly any substitute for the Big Apple in Raphael's book.


	3. 8:32 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**8:32 AM**

_Why must it always be like this... Raphael, damn you..._

Leonardo sat cross-legged on the thatched mat of his brothers' training sanctum deep within their mausoleum lair in Westwood Cemetery. One could smell the aromatic incense smoke pouring from the many acupuncture needles protruding from his relaxed body from any other chamber in the lair. Still, Leonardo concentrated on what troubled him.

Breathing in the soothing incense as he cleared his mind of all trivial thoughts, his mind became focused as a tempered blade. The problems became clear in his mind's eye; all self-doubt eased away like storm clouds swept away by the wind.

He remembered a time years ago. He and his brothers had ventured into the forests of Northampton, Massachusetts and had become greeted into a mythical Hall of Lost Legends and told they were early — an ethereal place where forgotten myths and legendary heroes became statues forgotten by time, hidden away from all living things — by the equally mythical Loki. Whether it was a dream or real, to the present Leonardo did not know for absolute certain, but he remembered well their talk with Splinter when they had escaped.

_"From what you have told me," Splinter had spoken that day, "it is clear that by your actions, the Hall of Lost Legends were rescued from Loki. It seems the lesson of intuition is understood. I am especially proud of you, Donatello."_

_"I have one question, Master," Don had asked. "From the time we arrived at the Halls, we were told that we were somehow early, but no one ever explained why. It's as if we were..."_

_"Expected?" Splinter finished. "Is the answer not clear? It can only mean one thing... that one day, you too will take up residence in the Land of all Creation!"_

_"You're kidding! Us?"_

_"But, Master," a younger Leonardo had protested that day, "we live in hiding — no one even _knows _about us! We could never become legends... could we?"_

Legends... or urban legends? "Turtle-Men of the Sewer" sightings were often documented in the tabloids... was this the kind of legend Loki and Splinter were referring to?

Leonardo found anger welling up within him at the stirring of such an old memory, but forced it aside.

As much as they were alike, his brothers were also very different people. What they shared was a bond of brotherhood that nothing could ever break. It was all Leonardo could do to set the example, the ideal, and hope that the others would follow.

He only feared that one day, without Splinter, he might not be able to hold his brothers together. Maybe for a time, but not forever. In a world that would never welcome them, a society that they could never be a party of, that would truly be a lonely place of dying.

Leonardo would give his life to keep that from happening, as surely as his honor and his word was his bond. They would _never_ see the Hall of Lost Legends again, not if he had anything to say about it.


	4. 8:45 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**8:45 AM**

Michelangelo reclined on the sofa in April O'Neil and Casey Jones' two-bedroom apartment, sipping some Snapple Apple as Casey's young daughter, Shadow, proceeded to channel-surf on the television set worse than Raphael. Absently, he glanced at the television screen as she clicked through, finally stopping on a channel.

On the screen, some kind of projectile seemed to quickly ram into what appeared to be one of the World Trade Center towers. Smoke, debris, and fire billowed out from the impact point.

"Cripes! What is this, sweetie, _Die Hard IV?"_ Mike shook his head at the little girl. "Ah-ah-ah. C'mon, Shadow... you know April and Casey wouldn't like you watching that kind of movie." He felt a bit guilty at being the prude — after all, it was only last week he let her watch _The Matrix _as a treat, complete with popcorn and Gummi Bears.

Shadow grimaced. "You're no fun anymore, Uncle Mikey." With a grunt, she began to change the channels up, beginning with 3, and then 4, and then 5.

Die Hard IV, _at 8:30 in the morning? And have they even _made Die Hard IV _yet? Stranger things have happened, but... oh. Channel 2?_

"Wait... wait just a moment," Mike began. He felt something unsettling in his stomach, and he was fairly confident it wasn't just his breakfast. "That... that was CBS."

"That wasn't a movie?" Shadow shook her head. "Now you're messing with me, Mikey. Just lemme watch TV, okay?"

"Turn it back, please, sweetie."

A lone reporter, frantic, appeared on a hillside, the cityscape of Manhattan sprawled out behind him. Smoke continued to billow out of the building Mike had seen struck several seconds earlier before the screen flashed back to the earlier scene of the object hitting the building. It seemed more clearly defined as the shot went in slow-motion this time.

_Good lord... that's a plane!_

_" — once again, this reporter still can't believe what he's seeing, but as we await official confirmation, we've apparently just seen in front of us appears to be passenger jet American Airlines Flight 11 out of Boston... crashing into the north tower of the World Trade Center. Say again, we —"_

Michelangelo's eyes widened with disbelief. "Oh my god..."


	5. 7:24 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**EARLIER. . .**

**7:24 AM**

"_D__amn it!"_

"Hey, Raph, ease up. It's just a —"

"I will _not_ ease up!"

With that exclamation, Raphael threw down the controller of his X-Box with vehemence. His brow furrowed in anger and he jabbed an accusing finger at Donatello, who held the opposing controller during their game of _Dead or Alive 3._ "You cheated! You fucking _cheated_ like you always do!"

Don gave Raph his best baffled expression for the simple fact that he truly was baffled this time. Raph getting ticked about things he really had no place getting ticked about was nothing new to Don or any of the others... but that didn't make putting out the flames of his anger any easier. "Look," Don spoke, "I'm not even sure how one would even go _about_ cheating in this game... let it go, man."

Raphael stormed up from the sofa to be directly in Don's face, swatting the controller out of his hands and giving him a shove. "I will _not_ let it go... not this time, not ever again!"

"Hey, I — "

Raph gave him another shove, this one harder than the last. "You think you're bad 'cause you play video games all day? Because you're glued to the internet all day? You, the badass computer geek? Huh, Donny? Is that it?"

Don threw his hands up in exasperation. "I told you, I — "

Leonardo burst in from Splinter's meditation chamber, none too pleased about what he had heard so far. "All right, just what the _hell_ is going on in here?"

The two brothers each seemed to indicate the other, citing their own reasons for the conflict.

Leo shook his head. "I don't want to hear about it, guys. You guys are damn near twenty-four years old... do you realize that, _Raphael?"_

"Oh, I gettit." Raphael gave a chuckle. "There your ass goes again, singling me out. I shoulda seen that coming, shouldn't I have?"

"You're still my best friend, but contrary to popular belief, bro..." came a familiar voice. Michelangelo popped his head out from Splinter's meditation chamber just behind Leo. "... the world still doesn't revolve around you, Raph."

"Ooh, that's it... that's _it..."_ Raphael nudged his way past Don and stormed his way to the exit of their Westwood Cemetery den. "I'm _so_ freaking outro, brothers. You can rot in this cemetery for all I care and I'll just catch you guys on the flip side, okay? Good!"

"Raph, wait..."

But it was too late. Throwing on his now-trademark trench coat and Humphrey Bogart-esque hat at the same time he hurled a nearby empty Miller beer bottle at the wall, Raphael disappeared into the darkness of the entryway of the crypt they'd come to call home. The sound of shattering glass signified his exit.

"Damn!" Donatello shouted, giving the X-Box controller a resounding kick with his foot. "He does this every time..."

Michelangelo buried his face in his hands, shaking his head. "It's not the first time, Donny... and it won't be the last."

Leonardo only shook his head.

The soft sound of wood against concrete could be heard in short intervals, one after other, until Splinter limped his way from his bedchamber. He paused for a moment, his wizened gaze passing across the three remaining Turtles' faces. "So soon after our defeat of the Lady Shredder... so soon after we have vanquished all of the enemies before us that we look to one another to make new enemies." Splinter gave a deep, heartfelt sigh. "I expected more, my sons... so much more."

"I'm sorry, Master Splinter," Leo spoke, bowing to his sensei. "But Raphael... you understand..."

As Splinter retreated back to his bedchamber, Donatello found himself throwing on some sweat pants and a sweatshirt — some fresh air would decidedly do him good and he thought he knew of just the place to go.

"You're heading out also, Donny?" Mike asked.

Don gave a nod. "Yeah... but just to get some fresh, morning air, you know?"

"I hear you." Mike let a short sigh and started for his coat. "Maybe I'll see what April and Casey are up to... check up on Shadow."

As the other Turtles left, Leonardo was left alone in the mausoleum lair. Not saying a word, Leo clenched his hand into a fist, feeling the anger welling within him, building, growing.

_No,_ he thought to himself, _I'm better than this... stronger. I have to be, for all of us._

Quietly, he headed further into the lair to better collect his thoughts. There was much to meditate on this morning.


	6. 8:39 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**8:39 AM**

Donatello popped out of the janitor's closet wearing the closest thing he could put together in a hurry resembling a makeshift janitorial jumpsuit. His get-up was complete with soiled boots, a beanie, and a glue-on beard, and a nametag/identification card on a necklace he found stored away. Accepting that his outfit was about as good as it was going to get (barring prosthetics that there was simply no time for) he had managed to slip his way into the South Tower of the 1,368 foot tall World Trade Center. He moved just past the main reception.

Don had never actually known where Chang Lao worked until then, never wanting to pry. This fact forced him to break into his friend's briefcase and dig out his office address. He was sure the kid wouldn't mind, not if as much was at stake as he had made it sound like an hour earlier.

"Going to owe me, kid... oh, bigtime..."

He gazed around him and admired the expanse of the reception hall, giving a wistful sigh. Don was something of a student of New York's history and had always regretted never getting a chance to visit the World Trade Center.

_Now is a good a time as any, _he thought with a smile.

The twin towers of the World Trade Center were surely more than just buildings. As Don understood it, they were proof of New York's belief in itself. Built at a time when New York's future seemed uncertain, the towers restored confidence and helped bring a halt to the decline of lower Manhattan. Brash, glitzy, and grand, they quickly became symbols of New York.

Well before Donatello's time, the World Trade Center was conceived in the early 1960s by the Downtown-Lower Manhattan Development Association to revitalize the seedy radio row dominated by electronic stores. Chase Manhattan Bank chairman David Rockefeller, founder of the development association, and his brother, New York governor Nelson Rockefeller, pushed hard for the project, insisting it would benefit the entire city.

In 1962, the Port Authority of New York and New Jersey began plans to build the center. Minoru Yamasaki and Associates of Michigan was hired as architect. Eventually, Yamasaki decided on two huge towers. Critics in the old papers Don had browsed at local libraries charged that a modern monolith would rob New York of character, ruin the skyline, disrupt television reception, and strain city services. However, the project was approved and construction began in 1966.

In order to create the 16-acre World Trade Center site, five streets were closed off and 164 buildings were demolished. Construction required the excavation of more than 1.2 million cubic yards of earth, which was used to create 23.5 acres of land along the Hudson River, now part of Battery Park City in lower Manhattan. During peak construction periods, supposedly three thousand five hundred people worked at the site. A total of ten thousand people worked on the towers; sixty died during its construction.

The North Tower was opened in December, 1970 and the South Tower in January, 1972; they were dedicated in April, 1973. They were the world's tallest buildings for only a short time, since the Sears Tower in Chicago was completed in May, 1973.

Four smaller buildings and a hotel, all built nearby around a central landscaped plaza, completed the complex. The mall at the World Trade Center, which was located immediately below the plaza, was the largest shopping mall in lower Manhattan. The six basements housed two subway stations and a stop on the PATH trains to New Jersey.

Some fifty thousand people worked in the buildings while another two hundred thousand visited or passed through each day. The complex was so expansive it was even given its own zip code.

Before he could continue reflecting on his extensive WTC trivia, Don suddenly felt a uniformed African American woman's gaze firmly on him as he stepped around the corner from reception. He stopped, and made eye contact only briefly. She was coming closer.

"MacPherson," Don shouted hoarsely. He made a cough, fumbling for the name badge hung around his neck. Not facing the woman, he lifted it toward her and showed her the card. "I'll be outta here in a jiffy... thought I'd get an early start today." Hoping that would suffice, he kept moving.

"All right, you take it easy... Mack?" he heard the young woman's voice behind him. "You look awful..." She didn't sound either entirely convinced or concerned at that point, but he quickly put some distance between them just the same.

Moving nonchalantly amongst the traffic of business-suited men and women so as not to appear out of place, he made his way to a maintenance door. He double-checked to make sure the coast was clear — his disguise would hold up on a glance but a closer look and he would surely be made — and ventured in.

A flight of stairs were in front of him.

"Ah, good. Stairs it is," Don said with a sigh, beginning up. "Damn, Lao... why is it you have to work on the _sixty-fifth_ floor? Don't you have to climb a corporate ladder first or something? Start you off in the basement or something? No?"

Grudgingly, but none the less determined, Donatello continued up the stairs. Best case, he could be in Lao's office within ten minutes, leave the briefcase with Lao's secretary — Don figured anybody who's anybody in this place has probably got one and Lao seemed to be a somebody — along with a message illustrating the urgency in which he should get it, and be out with a quickness.

_"Ooph!"_

As he made it to something like the fifty-fourth floor, his footing abruptly gave way. Before he could even stop and wonder if he'd slipped or had tripped over something, a thunderous quaking and almost deafening thunderclap hit him like a ton of bricks and tested his balance.

"What in the..."

As the sensation passed, Donatello gathered himself and got his bearings back. Wiping at its dust as he peered out the nearby window, at first all he could see was a thick blanket of the blackest smoke he could imagine wafting away from view on the wind. A gigantic hole had been torn into the side of the North Tower, red embers burning like pyres within its expanse as smoke continued to billow out.

He felt his knees getting weaker as he continued to view. Strange as it was, he found himself unable to look away.

"Good lord..."


	7. 8:51 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**8:51 AM**

Leonardo was in front of the television with Splinter when he got the call.

Caller ID indicated it was Donatello. Flipping it open, he spoke tersely, "Don, where are you?"

_"Leo? Can you hear me?"_

"Yes, I can hear you fine... where are you?"

_"I can barely hear you, Leo... if you can hear me, I'm in the South Tower of the World Trade Center... something terrible has just happened to the Nor — "_

"I know, Don, I'm watching it on television with Splinter. God, you're right there next to it in the South Tower?"

_"I came here to return something to Chang Lao when this happened..."_

"Chang Lao?" Leo asked. He remembered well Donatello's friend. Often times he would bring Lao over for supper, sometimes he would train with them. Donatello found a kind of kindred spirit in the boy, and Splinter had always been fond of his visits as well.

_"Look, I can't talk much at the moment but I think I'll be all right. I'm just going to go grab him, make sure he's okay and make my way back down — "_

"You listen to me, you need to get the _hell_ out of there and you get the hell out of there _right now,_ Donatello!" Leonardo shouted into the phone, simultaneously watching the hellish WTC scene play itself out on the television screen. "We don't know what's going on yet and — "

_"I... I still can barely hear you, Leo... it's very crazy here, I'm pretty sure we're being evacuated... I'll call you when I — "_

With that, the phone call abruptly ended, the line on Don's side dead.

"Don? _Don?!" _exclaimed Leo. Upon an immediate redial of Don's number, Leo was greeted only with Don's voicemail. "Damn it!" The phone visibly shook in his hand then as his grip intensified. "God _damn_ it..."

A knowing look was exchanged between Splinter and Leonardo; between master and protégé. _"Go_ to him, my son," Splinter rasped, nodding weakly. "Do what you must."

He didn't need to be told twice. Quickly bowing, he began rounding up his things he would need.

"Do what you must, Leonardo," Splinter continued, his narrow eyes nearly slits as he peered at his most adept pupil, "but do no more. This fight is not our own, this battle not ours to win."

Leonardo began to nod, but stopped himself short. He would not agree with his _jonin,_ not this time.

He understood well his master's sentiment, but this was coming from the same person that had once raised and trained he and his brothers to be ninja — there was no way to sugar-coat it, _assassins_ — for the sole purpose of fighting _his_ own battle in avenging the deaths of his former master Hamato Yoshi and Yoshi's bride, Tang Shen, against Oroku Saki. The Turtles had been only thirteen years of age when they did the deed they had been raised from the infancy of their mutation to perform.

_Thirteen!_

As evil as The Shredder may or may not have been, as vile as his Foot Clan's grip over New York City's underworld may or may not have been, the act still did not feel any more righteous to Leo than it did a decade earlier. He was too old now to pretend it was anything other than what it was now.

"What I do now, Master..." Leonardo began, the words difficult to muster, "... I do as a member of this city. I do as — "

"An American...?" Splinter rested on his haunches, his walking stick bracing him further. His wizened gaze held Leonardo's for some time, considering his words, before he finally relented. He understood, if only his sentiment. "Go then, my son. Do what you feel is right."

"I will, Master."

Nodding at that, Splinter turned to head back into his own sanctum. He spoke softly as he walked, "But come back to this old rat just the same."


	8. 9:03 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**9:03 AM**

"Shadow!"

Casey Jones and April O'Neil burst into their apartment, Casey first. Exasperatingly, they rushed to where Shadow and Michelangelo were sitting in shock in front of the television set.

Casey took his daughter in his arms and hoisted her above him, smiling in relief. "Thank _god_ you're all right, sweetie. I heard about what happened, I don't know what's going on... some kind of a terrorist attack, nobody knows anything."

"I saw it on the news," Mike spoke. "I-I don't know what's happening... something like this has never happened before... who on Earth could..."

"The President hasn't said a word — not yet — but it's got to be terrorists, Mikey," April said. "T-they tried before in '93, but that... that was nothing next to this. Could be any one of a number of terrorist groups... people were talking about Al-Quaeda on the way up here... about someone... let me think... yes, someone named Osama Bin Laden."

"You heard her, Mikey?" Casey roared. "You get in touch with Raphael, you tell him if he has any buddies left in the Foot Clan — _any_ buddies at all, I don't even care which _clan_ — you have them put an APB out on that mutherfucker _pronto, _I don't care where he is, you understand? _Do you understand?"_

April put an arm gingerly over him. "Take it easy, honey. Easy."

"Not in my city... _not in my city!"_ Casey shook her arm off, grunting and stalking toward the bathroom.

Mike shook his head helplessly. He and his brothers had fought countless foes against all odds — the Foot Clan, the Triceraton Empire, Warlord Go-Komodo, cyborgs, fellow mutants, vampires, ninjas, monsters, and even mythical Norse demons... he simply didn't know what to make of a such a cowardly, faceless foe that would strike in such a spineless manner.

It just didn't compute.

_" — and all signs seem to point to this being a... a... oh my..." _

On the television, the reporter cut himself off and the scene quickly panned to the left to the other tower that had been left untouched, the South Tower. A fiery explosion of even more smoke and a cascade of debris plumed out from what appeared to be a new impact on this building.

_"A second plane has just collided, this time with the South Tower! Repeat, a second plane has just collided with the South Tower! Both buildings can now be seen in flames... oh lord, oh lord..."_

The apartment grew deadly silent as all watched in shock. Even Casey, who couldn't help but come back into the living room to hear more of what was going on, dare not turn away from it.

America was under attack, there could be no question any longer.

Michelangelo was startled from his reverie only by his cell phone. It was Leonardo.

"Leo... are you seei — "

_"I am,"_ Leo spoke over the phone. _"Don's in trouble, Michelangelo... he's in trouble..."_

Leonardo didn't need to say another word.


	9. 11:17 AM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was"**

**11:17 AM**

By the time Leonardo, Raphael, and Michelangelo arrived at the scene both the South and North towers, as well as the WTC building at Vesey Street, had completely collapsed on themselves, blanketing much of the entirety of New York City in an impenetrable veil of white smoke. Potentially thousands of innocent people were inside the towers when they went down, potentially hundreds of firemen and police alike.

_Best not to think about all that now,_ Leonardo thought. He felt sure of that much in his heart.

Their nostrils burned with the acrid, almost chemical smoke the air was so rife with. It was hard to breathe, hard to see, hard to move through the rubble, but the Turtles persevered.

For hours the three Turtles, under the cover of the smoke, worked beside firemen and relief workers in sifting through the rubble for survivors. For these hours they worked tirelessly, even after their muscles turned to jelly and their hands became bruised, scratched, and bleeding.

It was all they could do.

"I don't know what the hell kind of creature you are, what planet you're from," a mustached fireman spoke to Raphael at one point after he had helped a woman with a broken leg and a likely concussion to safety, "but I want to thank you."

Raph, every inch of his entire body white from the soot aside from his now-red eyes he, like his brothers, measured the man's gaze and returned it. This fireman was the first human to notice him at Ground Zero save from the survivors he had been pulling from the rubble, most of which delirious or suffering from severe shock to begin with.

At this point, with everything that had happened today, Raph found he really couldn't care less if anyone around him saw that he was anything other than human. On this day, New York's darkest, it just didn't matter. Art of invisibility be damned. "The planet I'm from is yours," he offered the man, "and I'm the kind of creature that loves New York. That's all."

"Fair enough, friend," the fireman spoke, nodding his head respectfully as he repeated, "Fair enough." The man switched his shovel to his left hand, extending his right, gloved hand to Raphael.

Raphael paused a moment, wincing at the gesture but still holding the man's gaze firmly. The fireman's eyes didn't falter, not for an instant. Seemingly satisfied, Raph extended his own hand hesitatingly.

"The name's Johnston. Good to meet you."

Raphael regarded the fireman with a strong, heartfelt handshake. The man returned to his work without missing a beat.

It wasn't until the smoke began to dissipate to a degree high enough that the Turtles could no longer reliably hide themselves amidst its cover that they seriously had to start thinking about giving up their efforts. When teams from the Center of Disease Control started arriving in great numbers to secure the area, they simply had no choice but to retreat to a nearby alley.

As Michelangelo and Raphael huddled together in the darkness near a trio of homeless men and women behind a dumpster, Leonardo kept watch in the front, resting on his knees. His eyes burned yet he dare not close them.

Giving only a short glance back at his two brothers, Leonardo knew it without even saying a word. They had all arrived at the same conclusion.

If Donatello had truly been in the South Tower at the time he had called there was almost no chance he could have survived.

The three Turtles had lost a brother and their sensei a pupil... or a son. The sooner they would accept that hard fact, Leonardo knew, the easier it would be on all of them to move on and grow from it.

_I will never dishonor your memory,_ Donatello, Leonardo thought to himself, _your sacrifice..._

In one fluid motion the still-kneeling Leonardo slipped one of his katana swords from its sheath, whipped it around and up, and then finally drove it angrily down into the concrete at his knees with enough force to drive it straight through cleanly. Letting it rest in the concrete that had rippled and cracked around it, he cupped the base of it with both hands and then rested his forehead on it.

Time passed as Leonardo kept to his silent reverie, his brothers watching him from time to time as if to see what he would do next.

"M-my brothers..."

All three Turtles heard the voice and raised their heads slowly, recognizing the voice well but not so easily willing to get their hopes up on a whim.

"Donny!"

It was Donatello indeed, moving with great difficulty through what was left of the smoke cover toward his brothers. Bruises covered his already-soot white and blackened skin, dried blood was caked over his face and body, and he walked with a limp. In his arms he carried, with some great effort, what appeared to be a body. As he grew near, one by one the Turtles recognized who it was.

Don carried with him the bloodied, lifeless body of Chang Lao.

"I-I _tried..."_ Don sputtered, his voice cracking as he fell to his knees, "my brothers... god help me, I _tried..."_

As his brothers rushed to embrace him, a deluge of tears streaked down both of Donatello's cheeks as he began to cry and wail openly, as if he had been holding everything in for some time then.

Though the Turtles had regained a brother only to lose a dear friend, they knew with grim certainty that the thousands of victims and their families there in the city would not even be that lucky on this day.


	10. 7:46 PM

**"Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles : And All That Was..."**

**7:46 PM**

Later that day Leonardo stood still on the rooftop with his brothers as night began to fall, their bandannas removed, all of them silent with thoughts known only to themselves. Leo stood stoic, almost statuesque in his posture and demeanor as he gazed across the smoke-filled cityscape, his reddened eyes set on the Ground Zero of the WTC tragedy a block away as the mounting rescue effort continued to pick up momentum.

What could he say? What was he supposed to think — what were _any_ of them supposed to think?

There were no words, simply no words.

Leo felt the eyes of his brothers on him from behind but his gaze was unflinching, unwavering in its intensity. He was supposed to be the leader, the role model, the pillar from which they were to draw their strength in the absence of Master Splinter...

... and Splinter wasn't going to be there forever.

From elsewhere on the rooftop, Michelangelo consoled Donatello, both Turtles weeping bitterly. After embracing each other for a long moment, Mike decided to try and approach Raphael. He found his best friend sitting quietly on the opposite end, slowly, somberly twirling a sai in one hand. Mike took a seat beside him. When Mike realized his brother's face was soaked with tears he was taken aback, but soon put his arm over his back. His brother pulled him closer.

He had never seen Raphael shed a tear in his entire life. Nobody had.

"I-I'm... I'm not crying from my own grief, Mikey... not today..." Raphael spoke solemnly, glancing weakly over at Leonardo before quickly looking away, "I-I'm crying... because he _won't."_

Michelangelo gave his brother's shoulder a gentle squeeze before moving away. "It's all right, Raph... it's okay."

Hearing what his brothers had just said but saying nothing to acknowledge it, Leonardo turned from his observation of the bustle of the ongoing rescue effort continuing in Ground Zero — the firemen, the medic teams, the police, members of the National Guard — and walked past his brothers towards the fire escape. One by one the four Turtles began their descent.

The world, modern day society... they might never welcome Leonardo and his brothers with open arms — none of them had any delusions about this. But after today Leonardo felt he and his kin had come to the realization that maybe — just maybe — this city and its people were not so different from them after all at the end of the day. They had a right to a place in it as much as anyone, even if their role and skin color might be a little bit different.

There was, after all, always hope. Today that would be enough.

_But one day. One day..._

"It's our city, too, my brothers," Leonardo spoke determinedly. His voice was as stern as it was resolute. "Never forget that."

And they never would.

**FIN**

* * *

_"The key to our success as a city, the reason we are the most famous city in the world, and the reason why we really legitimately are the capital of the world, is really just one thing: immigration. _

_"We have never been afraid of people. We've never been afraid of people no matter what their color, religion, ethnic background. We're a city in which our diversity is our greatest strength._

_"And keeping ourselves open to people._

_"It doesn't matter if you came here rich or poor, if you came here voluntarily or involuntarily, if you came here in freedom or in bondage. All that matters is that you embrace America and understand its ideals and what it's all about._

_"Abraham Lincoln used to say that the test of your Americanism was not your family tree; the test of your Americanism was how much you believed in America. Because we're like a religion really. A secular religion. We believe in ideas and ideals. We're not one race, we're many; we're not one ethnic group, we're everyone; we're not one language, we're all of these people._

_"So what ties us together? We're tied together by our belief in political democracy. We're tied together by our belief in religious freedom. We're tied together by our belief in capitalism, a free economy where people make their own choices about the spending of their money. We're tied together because we respect human life. We're tied together because we respect the rule of law. Those are the group of ideas that make us Americans."_

**- Mayor Rudy Giuliani's Farewell Address, Dec. 21, 2001**


End file.
